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Authors: Lily Koppel
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for Louise to maintain her composure when she and her daughters were invited to an opulent invitation-only luncheon in the wardroom of Alan’s ship, which was docked in port. Louise’s girls observed the linen tablecloths and silver service and asked, “Mommy, how come Daddy is so rich and we are so poor?” There were no secret codes to answer that question, which struck at the heart of Navy life. The men were heroes and the families were broke.
Louise’s religion had helped her survive Alan’s days as a Navy test pilot. Her bible, Mary Baker Eddy’s Science and Health , stressing the power of positive thinking, was always near and dear. Mrs. Eddy counseled not to dwell on dark thoughts, which was perfect for a test pilot’s wife. Still, Louise insisted that if Alan was going to be even a little late coming home, he had to call her at exactly five o’clock to warn her. Otherwise she’d be squinting at the sky, looking for those awful black clouds that meant someone’s husband had crashed to the ground in a burning hulk.
On the day that Alan was announced as one of the Mercury Seven astronauts, one of the newspaper photographers had snapped a photo of Louise posing rather awkwardly in front of her mailbox. When the papers came out the next day, the address on her mailbox, 580 Brandon Road, could clearly be read. Louise received a boatload of mail, letters written by housewives across the country with cheery messages like Good Luck! and God Bless You, Dear , some clipped to a check written out for a generous sum. It seemed most of the women in the country believed Louise would end up a widow now that Alan was officially an astronaut.
On January 20, 1961, while the wintry light shone on the crowd huddled before the Capitol steps for John F. Kennedy’s inauguration, the handsome new president, beaming with hope, spoke of a “New Frontier” that, as it came to pass, would include going to the Moon by the end of the decade. “Ask not what your country can do for you,” Kennedy said, “ask what you can do for your country.”
The day before, the astronauts had been called into NASA head Bob Gilruth’s office for a meeting. “I have something important to tell you,” Gilruth said. NASA had made its decision. “This is the most difficult choice I’ve ever had to make. It is essential this decision be known to only a small group of people. We’ll make it known to the public at the appropriate time. Alan Shepard will make the first suborbital Redstone flight.”
They were all stunned, especially John Glenn, who had been sure he was going to be chosen to be the first man in space. Instead, he was slated to be the backup pilot not only to Alan, but also to Gus, who would make the second suborbital flight. John would have to go up third. It was a difficult pill for him to swallow. Where was the glory in that? The third man in space?
Perhaps it had something to do with the Kona Kai Séance, which had turned a few of the boys against John. Not long after that caper, the astronauts had to rate each other for their “peer vote.” John called it “a popularity contest.” In the weeks after the decision, he fought NASA until he was finally told to be a good sport.
Alan managed to control his jubilation by forcing his expression to stay neutral and staring at the floor. Freckle-faced John was steaming, but he reached out and gave Alan a congratulatory handshake; all the other guys followed suit. Then they left the room. Standing there alone, Alan realized there would be no celebratory drinks tonight; still, he was elated. So he raced down the highway to his home in Virginia Beach. Alan strode into the house, looking into the living room where Louise liked to sit on the carpet and play solitaire. “Louise! Louise, you home?”
She came into the room. “You got it! You got the first ride!” She could tell by his smile. He hugged her, squeezing her so hard she nearly squealed.
“Lady, you can’t tell
Louise’s religion had helped her survive Alan’s days as a Navy test pilot. Her bible, Mary Baker Eddy’s Science and Health , stressing the power of positive thinking, was always near and dear. Mrs. Eddy counseled not to dwell on dark thoughts, which was perfect for a test pilot’s wife. Still, Louise insisted that if Alan was going to be even a little late coming home, he had to call her at exactly five o’clock to warn her. Otherwise she’d be squinting at the sky, looking for those awful black clouds that meant someone’s husband had crashed to the ground in a burning hulk.
On the day that Alan was announced as one of the Mercury Seven astronauts, one of the newspaper photographers had snapped a photo of Louise posing rather awkwardly in front of her mailbox. When the papers came out the next day, the address on her mailbox, 580 Brandon Road, could clearly be read. Louise received a boatload of mail, letters written by housewives across the country with cheery messages like Good Luck! and God Bless You, Dear , some clipped to a check written out for a generous sum. It seemed most of the women in the country believed Louise would end up a widow now that Alan was officially an astronaut.
On January 20, 1961, while the wintry light shone on the crowd huddled before the Capitol steps for John F. Kennedy’s inauguration, the handsome new president, beaming with hope, spoke of a “New Frontier” that, as it came to pass, would include going to the Moon by the end of the decade. “Ask not what your country can do for you,” Kennedy said, “ask what you can do for your country.”
The day before, the astronauts had been called into NASA head Bob Gilruth’s office for a meeting. “I have something important to tell you,” Gilruth said. NASA had made its decision. “This is the most difficult choice I’ve ever had to make. It is essential this decision be known to only a small group of people. We’ll make it known to the public at the appropriate time. Alan Shepard will make the first suborbital Redstone flight.”
They were all stunned, especially John Glenn, who had been sure he was going to be chosen to be the first man in space. Instead, he was slated to be the backup pilot not only to Alan, but also to Gus, who would make the second suborbital flight. John would have to go up third. It was a difficult pill for him to swallow. Where was the glory in that? The third man in space?
Perhaps it had something to do with the Kona Kai Séance, which had turned a few of the boys against John. Not long after that caper, the astronauts had to rate each other for their “peer vote.” John called it “a popularity contest.” In the weeks after the decision, he fought NASA until he was finally told to be a good sport.
Alan managed to control his jubilation by forcing his expression to stay neutral and staring at the floor. Freckle-faced John was steaming, but he reached out and gave Alan a congratulatory handshake; all the other guys followed suit. Then they left the room. Standing there alone, Alan realized there would be no celebratory drinks tonight; still, he was elated. So he raced down the highway to his home in Virginia Beach. Alan strode into the house, looking into the living room where Louise liked to sit on the carpet and play solitaire. “Louise! Louise, you home?”
She came into the room. “You got it! You got the first ride!” She could tell by his smile. He hugged her, squeezing her so hard she nearly squealed.
“Lady, you can’t tell
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